


All Is Calm

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Accidents, Arguing, Blood Loss, Caretaking, Caring, Chases, Christmas Fluff, Cold Weather, Companions, Epic Friendship, Fluff and Mush, Frustration, Gentleness, Hemophilia, Holidays, Introspection, Late at Night, Making Up, Queerplatonic Dark/Host - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Scarves, Something Made Them Do It, Surprises, Trust, Vulnerability, Walks In The Park, compassion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: “The two companions walk shoulder-to-shoulder in comfortable silence down the lantern-lit street, seeming not to mind the snow that’s been falling or the cold wind that tugs at their clothes.”Dark is having some trouble accepting the weaknesses that the holiday season brings out in him. Fortunately, the Host won't judge. In fact, they might be just what he needs right now.





	All Is Calm

“The two companions walk shoulder-to-shoulder in comfortable silence down the lantern-lit street, seeming not to mind the snow that’s been falling or the cold wind that tugs at their clothes.”

Dark offered what could have passed for a vague, rueful smile as he glanced at the Host. “The silence _was_ comfortable. I understand it’s a compulsion, but we could do without the narration at the moment—” He lost the rest of his sentence then, grunting lightly as he narrowly recaptured his balance after his shoe caught on the pavement.

“If Darkiplier hadn’t _interrupted_ the Host’s narration, he would have had forewarning about that crack,” his friend countered with a more blatant grin.

“Funny,” Dark huffed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his long black coat and resyncing his steps with the Host’s. The silence draped back over them, broken only by the whistling wind and their soft footsteps, and, much to Dark’s surprise, he realized then that he would never have dared to say _anything_ was funny had they still been at Egos Incorporated.

Perhaps he was being affected by the season. Honestly, he shouldn’t be; Christmas was complete and utter chaos in their household! The control that Dark so desperately craved, the fragile composure that he revered when he was the guiding hand behind it—it all crumbled into utter destruction: Silver Shepherd breaking glass ornaments by jostling their boxes and Wilford banging nails into the fireplace and Google slamming cabinet doors on Christmas china and…

“The Host notices Darkiplier’s shiver and would like to know if he wants to borrow his gloves.”

“Of course not. Why would I?” Dark snapped on defensive impulse, to which the Host startled, taken aback. Pressing his lips tightly together, he shifted to put a few inches’ distance between the two of them and Dark sighed noiselessly, glancing away. He wouldn’t apologize. That would be just another weakness the season instilled into him, wouldn’t it?

The others insisted it was far too cold to be outside, especially this evening; it was said to be the coldest night of the year, but he and the Host had simply taken it as a challenge. They didn’t often get the opportunity to take walks together, certainly not without one of the others tagging along and being a general nuisance. This was their first opportunity of the month, but the silence had become decidedly less comfortable and the bite in the air seemed just that much colder now as the wind picked up.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Dark was coldly calculating and utterly ruthless in everything he did; he was meant to be. He _had_ to be, but it wasn’t hard to remember that the Host didn’t cope well with cold weather but he had accompanied him anyway, simply to keep him company. Guilt was a very unpleasant sensation and when it was added to the sensation of chilly fingers in his pockets…

“Very well,” he conceded with difficulty, keeping his eyes pinned on the street ahead of them. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

“The Host can do it himself,” the other Ego replied in a low voice, bending his head to pay attention to his work.

Dark’s steps slowed and he half-turned in his companion’s direction just in time for a much stronger gust of icy wind to blow over them. As he was bracing himself against it, all he heard was a sharp gasp from the Host before bloody bandages flew past in Dark’s peripheral vision, twirling wildly away in the wind. The Host doubled over, pressing his hands frantically against his bare face, and Dark only then realized what was happening.

Swearing profusely, he spun and took off after the renegade wrappings, lunging over uneven pavement and dodging cracks, but even then he was only able to catch them after they caught on the support for an awning. Hoping they hadn’t gotten too filthy after dragging across the street, he examined them with distaste and did his best to brush off the stray asphalt, but it only smeared further. Growling under his breath, he shoved them into a trashcan as he returned to his friend.

When he reached him, he found that the Host had dropped to the pavement, blood spilling in rivulets between his fingers as he kept them firmly against his eye sockets. Dark crouched in front of him, grasping one of his wrists.

“Let me see,” Dark ordered, to which the Host shook his head violently, droplets of blood falling onto the knees of his pants with the jerky movement. “Host—”

“Darkiplier has never seen him face to face, not in clear light.” He nudged a shoulder in the vague direction of the nearest streetlamp, casting a bright glow over them. “The Host doesn’t intend to let him.”

Frown deepening in bewilderment, Dark shook his own head a little. “Why not?”

“It is certainly not a sight fit for the season.”

“What do I care?” Dark brushed that off without a thought. “You’re going to bleed out and _that_ is something I’d rather not see. Lower your hands.”

The Host stayed quiet for a long moment and then heaved a sigh, leaning further back on his heels. “The Host intended to enjoy this evening,” he muttered angrily, his voice muffled as he dragged his hands a fraction lower. “He does _not_ intend to let Darkiplier see him… _like_ _this_ …on the only silent night they’ve had the privilege of sharing this month.”

“Haven’t you come to trust me?” Dark demanded, to which the Host offered a minute, reluctant nod. “Do you believe I’ll judge you?” That earned an equally small shake in the negative and Dark huffed, thinking creatively and unwinding his blue and red scarf as he concluded, “Then you just need to let me in; it’s as simple as that.”

“The Host recalls Darkiplier using those words to manipulate their creator’s fans…” the Host commented warily, but Dark could see that he was starting to run out of excuses.

“They’re fools. You aren’t. I choose my audience and my words carefully and in both cases, I meant them—for completely different reasons. Now lower your hands.”

As soon as the Host peeled his gloves a fraction away from his skin, Dark pushed his scarf out to replace them; he took no time to examine the details of the Host’s face—in fact, he only caught a second’s glimpse of the empty sockets as he folded the soft fabric more comfortably over the bridge of his nose. All he saw in them was blackness and for some reason it made his stomach tighten. He pushed that aside by sheer willpower, focusing on tying a firm knot and making sure the Host’s hair didn’t catch in it.

They stayed kneeling on the cold sidewalk for almost another full minute, weighing each other’s status. Dark did feel a twinge of regret as he watched twin blots of blood soak through his favorite scarf, but he was more concerned with the pensive frown the Host wore.

“What are you thinking?” Dark questioned at last, rather impatiently.

“The Host does not like the fact that his friend will be doubly cold without gloves or his scarf,” he replied grimly, lifting his hands from his lap just long enough for Dark to see that the gloves he was meant to borrow were just as blood-soaked as his new bandage.

As soon as he processed that, Dark couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly, reaching out to clasp the Host’s shoulders and help him up. “Don’t concern yourself. It’s my duty to be cold.” That said, as the breeze whistled over his neck and down the back of his coat, he couldn’t help but hunch his shoulders a little—even more so when the Host carefully slipped an arm around them.

“Then the Host would like to thank Dark,” he said softly, “and point out that he may not behave as coldly as he’d like to think.”

Dark stayed stiff and unsure as they slowly continued their walk, but the arm stayed where it was…and he _let_ it, barely moving except to stuff his hands back into his pockets. If the others were here…no, he still would have let it stay.

Put it down to the cold and the season.


End file.
